Opening Packages
by Stormy Grey Skies
Summary: Bella opens a package intended for someone else. Bella spies on someone. Rosalie thinks Bella's nothing but competition.. Emmett just wants to get settled in. This should be interesting. Multi-chap starring BxEm with some 'subtle' Rosalie-bashing. Mild swearing. Possible lemons. "It's not like this particular guy would make much of an impact on my life, right?"
1. Chapter 1

I guess it all started because I was just too damn nosy.

It was a Tuesday. I remember it because it was such a sunny day out, but I was stuck at home – sick with sniffles and congestion and just general grossness. My head was foggy and I hated the way I could feel my pulse rushing through it like some kind of train. Yeah. A train of pain.

Heh.

Anyways, I'd been watching some old comedy about voiceless spies who got into funny situations that would've sent someone to the grave in real life. One had a big handlebar mustache, and the other was a beanpole with oversized eyebrows, and he kept finding new and exciting ways to fall down the same flight of stairs. Hey, I never claimed to have high standards in entertainment, did I? No. So don't judge.

A doorbell rang just as Mr. Mustache stepped on a rake that came up and slapped in in retaliation. I snorted and lazily got to my feet. I reached for the remote and pressed the mute button. It didn't work, so I mashed it a few more times, hit the remote against my old, weathered coffee table, and made a mental note to buy new batteries soon. The doorbell sounded again. Impatient, are we?

When I finally got to the door, whoever was on the other side of it had taken to just jabbing at the little button with their finger. I groaned and pressed my left hand over my ear, the long sleeve of my father's old police sweatshirt helping to muffle it slightly by placing itself between my palm and the side of my head. That incessant sound was starting to make my head throb.

I yanked the door open and was sorely tempted to just scream in my unwelcome visitor's face, but I caught sight of perfectly polished blonde curls cascading over a rose pink trendy blouse, and internally pouted. My neighbor, Rosalie Cullen was at it again.

Rosalie Cullen was the blonde bombshell that lived in the next apartment over. She wasn't really a horrible neighbor – she would keep an eye on my apartment if I had to go out of town on business – but she just wasn't my type of person. She was model-knockout-gorgeous, and she knew it. Fashionable and the kind that used way too many beauty products, when in stark contrast I, a plain-Jane, didn't even have half a clue what half the stuff she used was _for_. I mean, on all accounts _I _should be the one prepping for a solid hour before going out – more ugly to cover up. But _she, _with the perfect 10 body and features that looked elegant even when she'd just woken up (I should know, I'd seen it myself when I'd stopped by to drop of mail that was mixed in with mine), was the one who spent that amount of time in front of her mirror. Her looks made her a little stuck-up and obnoxious, too. I knew she was smart – or at least, had a vague notion – but she never used it. She just acted _so _fake sometimes and –

Okay, enough of _that. _My bad habit of rambling – another reason why I was still single at the age of 28. A 'ripe old age' for women who were 'alone', if you ask my mother. Oh, I can just hear her now.

"_You know, you're getting close to thirty now, and you know what they say – after thirty, it's much harder to land a decent man. Don't you want someone to take care of you? Or do you want to die alone?"_

Looking back, that's probably where I got my intolerance of people who did that backhanded-compliment thing. Hence, the reason why I kept turning down Rosalie's proposals of a 'makeover-spa-day-girl's-night-in!'. Yep, she somehow managed to include the exclamation point.

She pushed right past me into my apartment in a blur of golden ringlets and the overly floral scent of perfume mixed with undertones of her various other beauty products. She spun on her spiky heel (that was going to put a hole in my carpet, damnit), and turned to face me with an excited gesture of her designer-purse-toting-hand and a quiet squeal.

One that cut off and morphed her face into a look of subtle disgust as she eyed my attire. I looked down at myself. Dressed in only an oversized, ratty sweatshirt and socks (no pants – hey, it's my house, I deserve to have free legs), unwashed hair up in a unintentionally messy bun, and no makeup covering my congested face, I painted a stark contrast to her polished appearance.

She tried to cover up her judging with a slightly strained return of her earlier excited smile and I grudgingly grimaced back. The sooner she got whatever it was off her full chest, the sooner I could go back to watching TV, laying on the couch, and eating cheese puffs.

Ah, yes, cheesy goodness awaits. Let's get this over with, shall we?

"Hi, Rosalie." I intoned, hoping that my tone sounded at least polite enough that she wouldn't leave in a huff. I had a meeting in Jersey City soon, and my philodendron, Dennis, would need someone to come over and water him while I was gone.

"So, I just learned the best thing ever!" she gushed, roaring right past returning my greeting. I went over to my small kitchen unit and got myself a mug of water while she followed behind, practically bouncing in excitement. I had a feeling I'd need something to use as an excuse to not respond to any question she might ask during the course of the conversation.

I took a large drink and looked at her over the rim with raised eyebrows, nonverbally encouraging her to go on.

"You know the Wong's old empty apartment? That one across the hall? Well, the new guy just moved in!" She eagerly waited for some sort of reaction. I took another drink of water.

She barreled on, not letting me stop her. "And guess what – he's about our age, and he is _hot!_ He's exactly my type – tall, dark, and handsome – oh, who am I kidding, that's about every girl's type! I saw him moving in some boxes, and can I just say _hunky?_ Seriously, the guy's got these gorgeous muscles, and he was wearing this dark blue t-shirt that just looked _stunning_ on him, _seriously_! Plus – he's got a nice butt – that can't hurt, and this black curly hair that somehow manages to look carefree and neat enough that you know he isn't a complete slob at the same time! God, Bella, don't you know what this _means?"_

No, no I didn't. I took another long sip of water.

"It means it'll be _super_ convenient for me, having a boyfriend across the hall! Like, it'll totally cut down on the hassle, and I only saw him from the back, but I just _know _he's good in bed, you know? Oh, I bet he's all hot when he's like, looming over you…." She trailed off, a dazed expression on her face.

Okay, then.

"Well, did he sound interested?" I added, sensing she needed just a little something to keep on going.

She looked genuinely puzzled for a second. "Huh? What – no, we didn't, like, talk or anything. I only saw him from the back and the side, but come on. I mean…look at me. I've never been turned down before, and it's not like I'm going to start now," she said flippantly, throwing her hair over her shoulder. "So it's not really a problem."

Wow. Full of yourself, much? I internally scoffed, but then sighed and realized she was probably right. I seriously doubted she _had _ever been turned down before, and even if he wasn't interested in her as a person, he'd probably at least throw her a bone. Girl was persistent. And hot. I mean, we all have that one fling that gets by mostly on looks and super hot sex, right?

It's not like it mattered all that much to me, anyway.

After all, people moved in and out of different places every day. It's not like this particular guy would make much of an impact on my life, right?

**AN/: So, this is bad. I'm starting a multi-chapter fic with two more that I really should be paying more attention to. But this was requested, and I just can't say no, can I? Anyways, more to come, hope you like/d it.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Finally, _Rosalie was out of my apartment. I sighed and set my water down. Deciding to finally take a shower, I walked into my bathroom and made a face at the woman in the mirror. Rosalie might not have much of a likeable personality, but every time she came over, she still made me feel like I paled in comparison as a human being.

It wasn't even that I didn't like how I looked…I was comfortable in my own skin. The occassional acne I'd had as a teen had completely disappeared leaving only the faintest of traces behind, I had a nice rack and overall figure, and there were no major blemishes or disfigurations I really had to be self conscious about. Of course, there was the scar running from the middle of my side to my hipbone from an accident involving my no-good ex-boyfriend, a tree, and the alcohol he sword he hadn't been drinking, but that was another story.

It was just the way she seemed so pristine, like a mint Barbie doll complete with Pepto-Bismol pink and lime green accessories. I, on the other hand, was not quite so flawless. Like all women, I had those things about myself I hated: the way my nose turned up ever so slightly, the five pounds I could most likely stand to lose, how I could never get my brown wavy hair to fall perfectly and frizz-free down my back. Standing next to her just made them stand out even more.

Feeling like a little child, I stuck my tongue out at the mirror and turned by back to it.

Standing in the middle of the room with a towel wrapped around my naked body and feeling nice and clean for the first time in really too many days, I sighed happily and reached for my moisturizer. It wasn't anything fancy…in fact it came from WalMart, but it smelled nice and that's all that really matters, right?

Freshly washed and wearing clean clothes, I felt much healthier and I kissed my sick spell goodbye. This called for a slow re-entering into the normal routine. Humming happily, I decided to do some laundry and get the mail, so I gathered up my supplies and went on my way.

My hair still dripping wet, I unlocked my mailbox and found the usual assortment of bills and junk mail. But there was something else there…something interesting.

I stopped humming.

It was an odd but unassuming package, just small enough to fit into the opening. I wracked my brains for an idea of what it might be, but I couldn't think of anything. I hadn't bought anything that needed to be shipped recently, it wasn't near my birthday or any special occasion, and no one I knew had a tendency of randomly sending me packages in the mail.

Color me intrigued.

I rushed up to my apartment to open it. Forget the laundry, I was curious as a soon-to-be-dead-cat, and I couldn't care less.

So, of course, I managed to slip on the stupid uneven step halfway upstairs and fall. Down the stairs.

Yeah. It hurt. Like hell.

Laying there moaning and regretting all the life decisions that had brought me to this moment, I felt the urge to cry. Genuinely cry.

I hadn't cried since…okay, so that night two weeks ago where I had too much to drink with my party friend Alice didn't count. In my defense, I was wasted.

God, I was a mess.

The sharp pain in my body started to dull to a dull pounding and I finally got my breath back, so I groaned and started trying to sit up.

I heard an exclamation in what sounded like a male voice and a flurry of motion, and suddenly there were warm, slightly rough, hands helping me up. I leaned on the stranger while trying to ignore the voice in my head calling me stupid for running up the stairs like that.

The warmth at my side and the hands that were resting delicately but surely at my shoulders disappeared and I found myself disoriented and confused by the loss. But before I could start calling myself crazy, too, and thinking I imagined the whole thing, they were back. I smelled something nice as the rush of movement blew the stranger's scent in my direction. I reasoned it must've been his cologne, or something, despite the fact that no cologne could smell that naturally earthy, because there was even less of a probability that a human being could smell like autumn leaves and vanilla. Damn, dude smelled like cake, or something.

I must've hit my head at some point, because even I wasn't following my own thoughts. But the guy was saying something, probably, and I tried to follow along. Something…something about hospital…oh, no.

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm all good. Thanks…" I didn't have the money or the energy. What? Aspiring authors don't really make the much, and my current job as a secretary came with a boss who didn't fire me for being sick so long and paid me well, not one that paid me so mind-blowingly I could pay off my student loans.

"Oh, 'scuse me ma'm, I'm Emmett. I just moved in, so…You sure you don' need the hospital?" Surprised, I registered a southern drawl coloring those words, before realizing that he was _that _new neighbor. I turned to see the fuss. So, this was the new guy Rosalie was all excited about, huh? Trying not to be obvious, I looked him up and down. Okay, so this might be one thing I couldn't blame her for. Guy was hot.

He had this muscular build that just made me want to go all drunk-college-girl and ask to feel his biceps. The only word I could come up with to describe his delicious physique was 'hunky'. Uh-huh. He was _that _built. He wasn't wearing the turn-off douchebag clothes that usually came with that, either. Instead, he had the dark blue plaid button-up Rosalie had described, simple dark-wash jeans that looked a year too old, and nondescript beat-up brown shoes. He also had the dark carefree curls, but what she failed to mention were his crazy blue eyes. They were…topaz, I guess you would call it, and just looked so happy that I felt like a shitty human being compared to this man I didn't even know.

He could've been a murderer-rapist-psycho, but his eyes made me want to be an optimist. And that was _me _saying that. The rest of his face was nice and honest, with a strong jawline and chiseled features, but what really got me was his smile. He had dimples. _Dimples._ Jesus, I felt like I had to start rethinking my opinion on Rosalie, because this was a man who had the looks to cause such an effort. And he'd helped me – a stranger – up, when I knew most people who lived here and they would've just walked past. That had to say something about his character, right? Or was I just trying to justify the way I was drooling over his physical appearance?

"Well, thanks, Emmett. Um, welcome to the building, I guess. I'm Isabella, Bella for short. I actually heard you moved in. I guess I'm across the hall from you. Uh, this doesn't…usually happen. Uneven stair, you know…But, I'm fine, or…I should be. I've regained the ability to word vomit, apparently, so I don't think I'm gonna be dying soon. Yeah…" I cursed his face for making me into this gibberish-speaking mess. Rosalie would probably say something charming but sexy and leave with a wink.

He chuckled. "Well, if you're really alright…I'm pleased t'meet you, Bella. Oh, I think you…dropped this?" He offered his right hand to me, catching my attention. He'd retrieved the package I'd been so eager to open. I blushed and took it.

"Thanks again, new neighbor!" I said, trying to be playful but failing horribly and knowing it all the while. I blushed more.

"No problem, " he replied easily, giving me a slow smile that made my insides twist like they hadn't since my tenth-grade crush gave me a valentine. But then again, that guy ended up showing up at prom with a different girl when we'd said we'd meet each other there, and telling me he was sick of me since I wouldn't put out yet. Looking back, I've never had the best choice in men…hm. Probably merits further thought sometime later.

"You got any tips for 'the new guy'? I've only been here one day, but this buildin' seems pretty crazy…" He scratched the back of his head and looked a little uncomfortable. Ah, so he'd met the resident crazy cat lady.

"Oh, um, yeah, actually. Friendly word of advice, Mrs. Donnels, the fifty-something year old lady with four cats and bad plastic surgery will probably flirt with/sexually harass you. I don't know if you've met her yet, but I'm guessing you have."

He nodded sheepishly.

"Yeah, don't mind her, it can be a little uncomfortable, but she's harmless. She's just like that with every good-looking guy who's too young for her. I guess she's lonely. Oh, then there's Craig up on the fourth floor. He's…quirky. He rarely ever comes out of his apartment, but there's lots of weird noises coming from up there. Nothing to worry about, really, just the kind to make you wonder what's going on in there. John from down the hall sometimes wanders out sloshed in nothing but his tighty whities and an old gun, but don't worry, it's just a prop he got off eBay. Other than that…everyone's just your normal level of wacky." He raised his eyebrows and looked as if he was digesting the information. Yeah, it can be a little bit unsettling at first, but you get used to it.

"Well, thanks for the warnin's, neighbor. I'm off t'meet some friends, but I hope I run into you again. In less painful circumstances, of 'course." He threw me another smile, glanced at his watch, and left. Great. You scared him off, Bella.

_Not necessarily…he _did _say he hopes he runs into me again. Maybe he just had to meet his friends, like he said._

I ignored myself and went over to wait for the elevator.


	3. Chapter 3

My previous enthusiasm was diminished...falling down the stairs does tend to do that to you. I normally had my clumsiness under control, since being accident-prone since birth had given me plenty of practice in curbing the whole almost-dying-accidentally thing. But that ability to fall down over everything - or rather, nothing - always seemed to come out whenever life wanted to throw me a curveball. Last time it had been spilling coffee in front of my editor. It wasn't comfortable, but she'd noticed me, and I'd gotten my first 'contact' into the world of my dreams.

I just hoped that this time would turn out to be good, just like last time. Because it was either that, or it was just another side effect of my clumsy-ship-adrift-ness and the propensity of said ship to fall through life instead of living it. Yeah.

Okay, so I might've had a slight concussion. I sighed and placed the package on the countertop, walking past it to sit at my kitchen table and find something to do while waiting for my laundry to be done. I scanned the room, but I'd been cooped up inside my apartment for a few days now, and I was starting to get cabin fever. Which was why I'd gone out of my apartment to do the laundry in the first place.

And now, it appeared, I'd gone full-circle.

Though, not quite. The mysterious box captured my attention again. I walked over and reached for the knife holder sitting on my countertop, but just then the phone started ringing.

I picked it up and sighed. The caller ID told me it was my mother. Her calls were always such merry fun. I took a beat and let it ring two more times before gathering up the courage and mental strength to answer it.

"Yes, mother?" I asked neutrally, careful to keep my tone from showing any irritation or emotion.

"Well, hello to you too. Do you always greet your callers this way? No wonder you're not married yet, going around scaring off all the potential husbands. What if I was one of them, huh?" I closed my eyes and reminded myself to breathe deeply and keep calm.

"Okay, mother. Hello, who is this? I couldn't possibly know your mysterious identity from the miracle of witchery that is caller I.D." Alright, so maybe some of my frustration came out through sarcasm, but she'd never had a very strong grasp on its definition, and so it was one of the rare tools in my weaponry against her.

"It's your mother, and I'm doing fine, thank you very much for asking." Except, apparently, when it came to her using it against me in a lecture on how I wasn't ladylike enough.

"I'm sorry, mother. I should have asked. How are you today? Good? That's great. I hope the weather isn't too cold for your old bones." I felt my patience starting to fray.

"Oh, it's alright. My bones are just fine. And what about you?" I lifted an eyebrow at the wall. She wasn't known for caring about my state of being…

Hesitantly, I began to reply. "Well, actually it's been a little stressful - "

And, as I should've expected, she cut me off.

"That's all well and good, but what is this I hear about you not calling that nice boy I set you up with back?" I should've known. I really should've.

"Mother, have you ever even met Ike?" Ike was her hairdresser's nephew's brother in law. He was also a snivelling mess who kept talking about his ex-girlfriend and struck me as way too clingy. He was also ten years older than me and smelled like old cheese. I told her so.

"No, I'm sure he's just lovely. You're much too picky, you know. Loretta _assured_ me that you two are perfect. This is just like Marty all over again. I'm sure you have things to nitpick about him, too, don't you?"

Marty was another one of my failed blind dates. He had been the great-nephew of some lady her neighbor played bingo with, and he had been a douche. Despite the fact that he'd invited me to a nice restaurant which he'd bragged to me that he'd pay for (though I ended up footing the bill), he'd immediately gone down to the bottom of the 'potential mate' scale. He'd shown up in just a tight white muscle shirt and 'fashionably' tricked out jeans, a snapback, and an attitude. It was like he was auditioning for Jersey Shore. Yep. That bad.

He wasn't even from Jersey, so the accent he faked was probably additionally offensive.

Plus, he didn't know half the words I used and unabashedly tried to get me and the waitress to agree to a threesome.

"Marty was horrible," I deadpanned. "And I don't know why you keep trying to set me up with these people you don't even know."

She scoffed, acting as if she was simultaneously offended and disappointed I asked. Which, she probably was. "Well, you're not gonna be young _forever_, you know, and I just don't want you to end up old and alone like that lady in your apartment building you told me about. I just care about you, is all. Excuse me if suddenly it's against the law for a mother to care about her daughter. You just think I'm a foolish old lady, batty and insane, don't you?"

I sighed again. "No, mother," I said patiently. "I just wish you wouldn't try to interfere so much in my love life."

"It's more like 'lack thereof', honey. Don't you want to have kids soon?" I bit my lip. I wanted kids, maybe, but it was more of a 'someday' thing, and I'd always leaned more towards adoption or something like that to begin with.

"Is that all you think I'm for, Mother?" I asked quietly.

"Well - what? No….no, of course not! What kind of human being do you think I am? I just -" She cut herself off.

There was an extremely awkward silence.

"Well, I gotta go…" I trailed off, not sure how to tell her I wanted to get off the phone.

"Of course. Just…" It seemed she didn't know how either.

"Yeah. Okay. Bye, Mother. Love you."

"Love you too, honey. Goodbye."

I hung up and felt oddly unfulfilled, a feeling that often came after talking with the woman who'd birthed me. Still, she was my mother and I couldn't just not pick up the phone.

I cast a glance at the package that had seemed so tantalizing before and found it had lost some of its magic. I didn't really feel all that keen to open it anymore.

So I turned and went downstairs to get my laundry, instead.


	4. Chapter 4

I wasn't sure how long I'd been sitting there, but I didn't exactly care, either.

The wine glass resting in my right palm felt nice and comforting, so I lifted it to my lips and took another long sip. My fingers had long since stopped trembling, and all I felt was a nice buzz and the soothing fragile weight of the glass.

I resumed my intense stare, boring holes into the box with my eyes.

To open or not to open?

I'd come up with my laundry and done on my to-do list, when I'd finally gotten to what I'd been itching to do. But there was one major problem, one that had me freezing before I'd slit the tape.

The package wasn't mine.

I don't know how I'd missed it until then, but the label on the box clearly read NOT YOURS in an unassuming address aimed for the new neighbor across the hall.

But that didn't change the fact that I still wanted to open it. I had poor impulse control - one look at my arms still held the ghosts of old doodles and you'd know I can't be left alone bored and with a pen. That was definitely not what kept me from tearing into it anyway.

What I lacked in self-control, I made up for with an active imagination. So I'd had plenty of time (not thinking about my mother) to devote to thinking of all the worst-case scenarios. What if it contained something I'd rather not know about Emmett?

Like...hemorrhoid cream and crab shampoo?

Or a full-body gimp suit?

Or even, I dunno, a book entitled 'Killing Everyone In Your New Apartment Building For Idiots'?

If something like that was the case, I'd definitely want to be blissfully ignorant. On the other hand, I was one curious cat, and I was almost ready to just bite the damn bullet.

A tiny, little part of my brain acknowledged the fact that the main reason I was so conflicted about such a simple dilemma probably had to do with wanting a distraction from the giant pile of mental/emotional shit residing in my brain, currently locked in a dark room labelled, 'Do not open: Mother issues inside'.

I threw back the rest of the wine like I was doing shots, and found myself wishing for that old familiar burn.

But I'd sworn off shots the week after college graduation, when I'd woken up somewhere in Mexico with five new tattoos, a hastily bandaged slash wound, a horrible hangover, and sharing a room with a hairy monster of a guy, a small donkey, and two coked-out hookers. Thank god they were on the other bed, and I was fully clothed - rips in my shirt didn't count. Which brought up the question of how they all fit onto the twin mattress in the first place, and also the more pressing matter of _what the hell I was doing there. _Still not entirely sure what had happened down there. Also not sure I ever wanted to find out.

Still, these kind of calls from dear Mother were happening way too often for my frazzled nerves. If she'd been anyone else I would've blocked her out of my life years ago, but she was the only family I really had left. Yeah, being the only child of only children of only children in a family where everyone seemed to die unnaturally young tended to do that to you.

Maybe we were cursed. That would certainly explain a lot.

I wanted to laugh, but I was just too damn tired to. So I just kept staring at the little box that was causing me this much trouble and felt the time fly by me.

To distract myself, I powered on my laptop and started checking my emails. Amidst the junk mail and random animal videos from Doug in accounting, there was a particular subject line that caught my attention.

**Gonna be in town** from **Esme C.**

Well, that definitely distracted me. I felt a flutter of happiness go through me. I hadn't seen Esme in person in way too long…

We'd met Sophomore year, when we'd been assigned as lab partners. She'd been painfully shy - even more of an introvert than I'd been, but we'd gotten along well. Our budding friendship had been solidified the day I happened to walk into the girls' bathroom while some girls were taunting her. I'd never spoken to them before, but that day I'd sure given them a piece of my mind.

By Senior year, she was out of her shell - we both were - and was known and liked by pretty much everyone.

We went our separate ways after graduation, but we still kept in touch. I was the first of her friends that she'd called after her first date with this older guy doing his residency, and also the first after Carlisle had proposed.

Every time we happened to be near each other, we'd crash on each other's couches and spend the nights catching up. Though, it was usually her visiting me, since her job as a sanctioned police psychologist provided excellent travelling opportunities.

My job? Not so much.

I read through the email and put the details into my calendar, shooting off a quick text to tell her I'd gotten it.

I was pleasantly happy, but after the distraction passed, the warm feeling started to drain away. Being alone in your apartment at night tended to be a poor environment to forget about your loneliness and the sucky parts of life. I went to take another drain from my trusty wine glass, but quickly realized I was out.

I got up and got myself something stronger.

Shots were a no, but I'd never said anything about whiskey straight from the bottle.

I let the warmth of SoCo wash through me, relaxing my muscles and giving me a pleasant numbness.

Who cared about mother issues or a neighbor's misdelivered package when you could have alcohol instead?

Not me, that's who.

I sighed and slowly passed out on the couch, after taking one more glance at the box.

I'd deal with it tomorrow.


End file.
